Things Change
by russelia
Summary: "Things change, Danny. You don't always get to keep what you have." Fletcher/Jones.


The snow had already stopped falling when the phone rang.

Danny Jones was in the bedroom, his head propped on a pillow and turned to the side, snoring away. There was an open book on his stomach, some of the pages carelessly bent at the precarious position his hands had left it in, and it rose up and down with his slow, steady breathing. He had been waiting all night for Tom to arrive; they were to spend the night together, and he picked the book at random to pass the time. But the chill air that seeped through the tiny opening in the windowsill carried with it a sleeping spell, one that he couldn't shake off, and before he could hop out of bed to make himself a cup of coffee, his eyelids had already made the adamant decision of closing.

The phone rang again, just as loud as the one before it, but Danny still couldn't hear it, and he only shifted to his side on the bed when the third filled the house, the sudden disturbance knocking the book off of him and onto the hardwood floor with a loud _thud_. The sound, mixed with the fourth persistent ring, finally woke him up, and he blinked the sleepiness clinging to his eyes before sitting up and looking dazedly around him.

"Tom?" was the first thing out of his mouth, soft and throaty, and he yawned loudly just as the telephone managed the sixth ring. Through his watery eyes, he searched for the clock on the wall and discovered it was a half hour past midnight, and he scratched his tired head slowly, another yawn forcing itself out of his throat.

Where was Tom? he wondered to himself as he made his way to the living room, taking languid steps as he scratched his neck in irritation, the incessant ringing plucking his nerves like the strings of a guitar. And who in their right mind could be calling at this time of the night? he added bitterly.

Just when he reached the sofa in the middle of the living room, the phone stopped ringing, and he sighed in exasperation before throwing himself facedown on the soft cushions. What was the point of waking him up when they would only hang up anyway? Squeezing his eyes shut, he attempted to retrieve what was left of the invisible sleeping powder sifting around the room.

He was having a good dream right before he had woken up; it was about him and Tom in the fair where they first met, then bustling with activity and little children pointing to stuffed animals while tugging their parents' arms. But in his dream, it was empty, and the whole place was intended for them and them alone.

Gathering enough distractions to welcome sleep, he soon found his mind drifting off, like a balloon slipping out of a child's hands and floating high into the sky, and a faint smile made its way across his freckled face.

No more had the drowsiness he sought after enveloped him than the phone rang once again, and he grumbled in frustration as he reached his hand blindly to retrieve the noisy little device.

"Hullo?" he said in a tired drawl, lifting his head and drawing his eyebrows together.

_"Danny! You have to come to the hospital right now!"_ Harry Judd replied urgently from the other line. The distress in his voice disconcerted Danny, and he jerked wide awake at the order. Whatever the reason was, it had to be extremely serious; Harry never spoke to him like that if it wasn't a situation of life and death.

"What is it?" Danny asked quickly, worry pressing heavily on his chest as he scrambled to his feet. He was already on his way to his closet to grab a jacket when Harry obliged to answer.

_"It's Tom! He's been hit by a car!"_

Hundreds of invisible needles struck his heart one after another like a game of darts, and he drew a sharp breath at the revelation, his hand, already gripping the thick, black jacket, twisting the fabric painfully.

_"Get here right n—"_

Danny never heard the rest. He was already out of the house and dashing through the snow-covered street before Harry managed the last word. Through the half-opened doorway, the closet door swung silently at the hinges, stopped from closing completely by the neglected telephone on the floor repeatedly muttering, _"Danny? Danny?"_

::

It was the longest run Danny had ever done in his life.

He didn't want to take a cab to the hospital; the anxiety filling his lungs and his veins surely would have driven him crazy. Though his misty breath was already coming out labouredly, fatigue twisting his heart like barbed wires, he didn't let his exhaustion hinder him from running. In fact, the adrenaline battling the fear and worry in his bloodstream fueled him to sprint faster, despite his legs screaming their protests for him to stop.

When he came upon the hospital, cold sweat clung around his forehead like a liquid headband, and some dripped down his cheeks while traversing his eyes, making it look like he had been crying at the same time. He _could _have been crying; he didn't really know. He was too tired and too anxious to think of anything else. At the moment, all he wanted was to see if Tom was alright, or, from somewhere deep inside his heart, that it all had been a sick joke.

Tightening his jacket around him, he trudged determinedly up the stone steps and pushed his way into the establishment.

::

"I need to see Tom Fletcher," Danny said breathily, all his running having finally taken its toll on his body, and the nurse, previously talking on the phone, eyed him suspiciously, as though he were an escaped mental patient. But Danny didn't care. Let them think what they want, he thought indignantly, his palms pressing hard on the polished counter, he just _had _to see Tom.

"If you can hold on for just a moment," she said with a saccharine smile, and she took her eyes off Danny to continue her prior conversation, but Danny wouldn't have it.

"No, I have to see him _now_!" Danny interjected impatiently, bordering on anger, making the patrons waiting in the seats behind him turn their heads to the commotion. The nurse rolled her eyes and pressed her fingers on the phone, visibly upset about Danny's sudden outburst.

"Sir, if you can't calm yourself down, I'll have to send security—"

_"Danny!" _he heard someone yell from a distance, and he turned his head to see Harry waving his arm in the air down the narrow hallway to his left. "Over here!"

Danny's heart swelled up and a soft gasp made its way out from his lips. Not having the patience to apologize, he immediately spun around and darted his way toward Harry.

::

Danny and Harry stood outside the door, moving out of the way every now and then to permit oncoming nurses and patients. They had been told to wait outside for a while, even through Danny's desperate pleading to let him in, and Harry had taken this chance to fill Danny in on how the incident happened.

"What do you mean, 'slipped on the ice and fell on the road'?" Danny asked incredulously, disentangling himself from the wall and moving closer to Harry. "Tom's not that careless, Harry, you know that!"

"It's what the people said, Dan," Harry repeated sullenly, his face lacking its usual jovialness. "It's what they said."

"I just can't believe this is happening," Danny said helplessly, shaking his head, and he jammed his hands in his jacket pockets before turning his back to the other man. "We were supposed to spend the night together."

"I'm sorry, Dan," was all Harry could say. He couldn't imagine how much Danny was hurting; the fear of losing someone he really loved must have been unbearable, and it was hurting _him _to see this ever-energetic young man dissolve into helplessness and vulnerability.

They were silent for a while; it was quite clear that Danny had no intention to converse, and Harry understood completely. He didn't want to disturb him, and he didn't want him to snap either. So he kept quiet, venturing on his own down the hallway for a drink without asking Danny if he wanted anything.

After what seemed like forever, the door finally opened, and Danny felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of the doctor emerging from the other side, a clipboard tight in one hand and a stethoscope hanging from his neck.

"You may come and see Mr. Fletcher now."

::

Danny followed the doctor into the room, the walls pure white and the floor littered with tables containing countless gleaming medicinal objects that scared and confused him at the same time. There was a curtain in the center cutting the room in half, and, from the light that shone from the ceiling, Danny saw Tom's outline lying on the bed, his chest thankfully rising up and down.

The doctor placed a hand on the edge of the curtain and pulled it along the metal rod suspended on the wall, and Danny felt his breath get caught in his throat at the sight of Tom with his head wrapped up in bandages. A red spot was barely visible on his temple, and Danny's stomach churned at what lay underneath the white cover.

"Tom?" Danny whispered, striding beside his bed and sitting on the one seat provided. The blond blinked his eyes open and looked around. Danny watched him with enthusiasm, a wide grin stretching his face as Tom pulled and felt the blanket. All his worries disappeared; Tom was fine.

It took Tom a while to acknowledge Danny's existence, much too preoccupied with his surroundings, but when he finally did, Danny smiled wider, and out of elation, he grabbed Tom's hand lying on his stomach with both of his. But Tom eyed him with curiosity, his eyebrows drawn together either in bemusement or apprehension, and he jerked his hand away.

"Who are you?" he asked, and Danny's smile disappeared in a flash, his heart beginning to twist and turn painfully.

::

"Why can't he recognize me?" Danny asked the doctor after taking him aside. "What's happened to him?"

"He was in bad condition when the ambulance brought him here. He suffered severe head trauma from the impact," the doctor obliged gravely, and Danny scratched his arm in discomfort. All the medical terminologies were scaring him; they made everything sound so much worse than they really were. He just wanted to know what happened to Tom. "The trauma—"

"Please," Danny interrupted pleadingly, and he snaked his arms around his shoulders as a bulwark of comfort. "Can you just tell me what happened?"

The doctor nodded, understanding Danny's request, and unclasped the stethoscope from his neck. "Mr. Fletcher has amnesia."

Danny took a breath, and he felt his heart starting to speed up. Tom has amnesia? No, it couldn't be, he thought desperately, looking over the doctor's shoulder at Tom eating his cup of chocolate pudding and laughing at something Harry had just said.

"So he can't…" Danny said falteringly, the rest of the words getting caught in an invisible net in his throat, and he swallowed thickly before composing himself enough to face the doctor again. "Is it permanent?"

"We're not sure at the moment," the doctor said, but Danny felt far from relieved. He shuffled his feet uneasily on the tiled floor and lowered his arms to cross over his chest. "But we'd like him to stay here for a few weeks to figure out the extent of his amnesia. For all we know, he could have regained his memory by then."

Danny knew the doctor was only trying to make him feel better, but Danny wish he wouldn't. It only scared him even more.

The doctor bowed his leave and strode out of the room. Danny sullenly pushed the door closed and turned around just in time to see Tom manage a booming laugh. Danny loved his laugh; how his eyes would squeeze shut and his mouth would open widely, his dimple poking itself to existence in his cheek. He loved it even more when _he _was the cause of his laughter.

Danny met Harry's gaze and both exchanged glances, Harry's crystalline blue eyes offering his silent condolences. Tom turned his head hesitantly to Danny, something that made Danny's heart flutter for a moment; but then he realized that Tom was looking at him as though he was a complete stranger—virtually no emotions behind those hazel eyes, and he felt his heart being ripped out of his chest at Tom's indifference.

::

Danny spent every waking moment beside Tom, sometimes with flowers, sometimes with the chocolate pudding he had suddenly grown fond of, trying to make him remember anything. But the answer was always "Sorry, but I really don't remember," and it was all Danny could do not to give up hope every time he heard it.

"Not even that time I carried you all the way to the park when you broke your leg just so you could ride in the swings?" Danny asked hopefully, leaning forward but keeping enough mind not to get too close. Tom thought for a moment, hovering the plastic spoon above the opening, and Danny felt a bud of hope flourishing in his heart. Maybe he'd remember this one, Danny told himself. Even just this one.

"No, I don't remember," Tom said disappointedly, shaking his head softly, and he dipped the spoon and swirled the gelatinous contents for the fifth time that day.

::

"Mate, maybe you should stop, eh?" Harry advised Danny as they waited in the lobby. Tom was having his fourth weekly check-up to see if he finally remembered something, and Danny was always anxious when the day came. Every single time, the answer was always as adamant as Tom's: "There's no change his thought pattern. Maybe we'll get something next week," or something resembling that. But nothing ever happened. Tom still failed to remember _anything_.

"What are you getting at?" Danny asked, stirred up, and Harry leant forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together beneath his stubbly chin.

"I don't think he's going to get better, Dan," Harry admitted cautiously. He knew Danny always got worked up when the subject of Tom's amnesia surfaced, but this time, he was willing to take a chance. He knew it was killing Danny inside that Tom couldn't even remember his _name_, let alone their memories together, and he believed that it was futile to go on filled with nothing but false hope.

"He will," Danny said stubbornly, shifting in his seat until he couldn't see Harry anymore, and he exhaled loudly in exasperation. He didn't want to accept it; he had to keep on trying. They had been through too much together to give him up knowing that he could have tried _harder_. Until he had done all he could, he would never let go of Tom, even if it meant coming in every day and continuing to try to make him remember. "He will."

::

"Tom?" Danny said, and the dimpled young man looked up from the flowers clasped delicately in his bandaged hands. The flowers from the weeks before crowding up Tom's bedside table were already wilted, their once vibrant hues now reduced to dark shades of brown and grey, adding more to the gloom that filled every bone in Danny's body. Through the nurses' protests, Tom managed to keep every one; he had told Danny that he didn't want all his money and hard work to end up in the trash, and that even though all the colors had already faded, the meaning behind them still clung to each petal, as new as the day he had given them to him.

"Yeah?" Tom asked, setting the bouquet beside him and watching Danny with a smile.

"I've been thinking…" Danny began, and Tom creased his eyebrows and listened.

Danny had been mulling the idea over for some time, right after the fourth unsuccessful check-up. At first he was hesitant; he didn't want to stop the treatments and the trials, but at the same time, he was tired of getting disappointed. He wanted to take the reigns this time, and bank all of his hope into this last chance that Tom would finally remember.

"Would you mind going with me to the fair tonight?" asked Danny, and Tom's face brightened slightly at the suggestion.

"Of course not," Tom smiled, and Danny felt his face heating up despite the cold emissions coming from the humming air conditioner. "I've been here long as I can remember. It'd be nice to see something other than never-ending blocks of white."

Tom laughed and Danny laughed, and Tom picked up the flowers and brought them to his nose once again, inhaling the sweet perfumes. Danny sniffed quietly and smelled the perfumes, too.

::

Tom was discharged that night with the consent of his parents.

Tom didn't recognize them at first, but when Danny told him who they were, he seemed to accept them at once. It was without question Tom trusted Danny, and Danny believed that his trust was a good start.

The night was cold; biting, even, and Tom had to wear a second jacket to keep himself from shivering. Being stuck in the hospital weakened his resistance to temperature, and coupled with the physical trauma the accident had left on his body, it was the only thing to keep him from passing out. Even though Tom fully comprehended the risks staying outside would do to his body, he wanted to go with Danny. Danny had been too good to him to back out of his offer.

"Ready?" Danny asked, tightening his jacket around him, and Tom, hugging himself and picking at the fabric of his gloves, nodded in compliance.

"Yeah," Tom huffed with a smile, his frosty breath curling from his lips and vanishing in the air, and Danny smiled with him. "Let's go."

::

The fair was closed and deserted, just like in his dreams, and as the two trudged on through the snowy ground, their shadows were their only companions.

From the nearby streetlamps, they saw every booth empty. Stuffed animals, or what remained of them, hung from the wooden awnings like marionettes. Danny had forgotten how long they had been there last, and it seemed to him that the activity of the place disappeared along with Tom's memory of it; Tom never mentioned to Danny if he recognized the place or not, and it dismayed Danny that Tom was looking around with curious little eyes. The place seemed as alien to Tom as Danny had been the day he ran to the hospital.

"It would've been fun to play these games if the place was still open, wouldn't it?" asked Tom with wonder when they passed a booth containing a lone teddy bear twice the size of Danny's hand. Danny looked at him with his mouth slightly open, and when Tom turned his golden head to look back, his lips curved into a smile, and he exhaled a soft chuckle.

"Who says we can't play?" Danny asked, and through the tangle of misty breaths clouding their faces, he saw Tom's eyes sparkle. A spark ran down his spine and butterflies exploded in his stomach. "Come on."

Tom watched as Danny picked up the brown ball sitting on the counter, and Danny took aim at once at the three bottles stacked in the shape of a triangle.

"If I knock all the bottles off the platform, you get the teddy," Danny told Tom brightly, and narrowing his eyes, he raised his arm and locked it in the shape of a catapult. Tom watched with bated breath as Danny swung his arm like a pitcher in baseball, and one after another, the bottles rolled along one another and fell to the floor with successive _clunks_.

Danny yelled in victory and Tom clapped through his gloves, the sound nearly inaudible, but Danny could hear it loud and clear anyway. He jumped up onto the counter to retrieve his prize, and clutching it tightly in one hand, he stooped low and presented the stuffed toy to the excited blond.

"Thanks," Tom said, and as soon as Danny landed back on the snow, both made their way across the fair, trying out any and every booth Tom laid his eyes on.

::

"You really don't remember anything?" Danny asked, and Tom sullenly shook his head, his eyes fixed on the bear's and nothing else.

They had retired on the carousel in the center of the fair, sitting snugly next to each other in the one long, candy-striped seat. Danny wanted to reach across Tom's shoulder and hold him close, more to feel Tom against him than to offer his warmth, but he couldn't find it in himself to do it. Something in the back of his mind told him no, and it was too strong of an order to refuse.

"No, I don't," replied Tom softly, and he disentangled his gaze from the bear and settled it on the stars. Danny looked up as well.

"I can't believe you can't remember everything we've been through, everything we've done," Danny said, half to himself, half to Tom, and Tom dropped his chin and looked at him.

"It's not my fault, you know," Tom said, slightly disapprovingly, and he shifted his eyes straight ahead. Danny blinked and dropped his head to watch Tom's outline, his nose and cheeks red from the bitter cold. Tom snuggled further under his layers of clothing and hugged himself tighter.

"I still love you," Danny admitted before he could stop himself, and Tom snapped his head to him with his eyebrows drawn together. Tension fell between them as thick as the snow around their feet, and Danny felt his breath hitch against his throat.

"Please don't say that," Tom told Danny, not sternly but not pleading either, and Danny's eyes glinted with confusion. Noticing this, Tom obliged to elaborate. "It doesn't feel right for you to say that to me knowing that I really don't feel the same. I've barely known you for four weeks."

Danny's heart constricted at once, and his stomach churned at the statement.

"You don't mean that," Danny tried to correct him, but seriousness was plastered on Tom's face, and the shaking of his golden head added more to the painful pressure growing against his chest.

"Yes, I do," Tom said bluntly, and Danny felt the sharpness of his voice slicing his already pounding heart. "Look, I know you've tried your best to get me to remember something—anything—about myself, but the fact is I don't. No matter how much you try, I won't. I don't want to pretend, and I know you don't want me to either. But you can't keep doing this. You can't keep trying to make me remember, Danny, because I _can't_."

"No, you're wrong," Danny said, fear evident in his tone. "I can't just let you go, Tom; we've gone through so much, you have no idea—"

"Yeah, I don't have an idea. But that's the point isn't it?" interjected Tom, and Danny felt his breathing getting harder. "Even if you tell me all the things you say we've done, my mind can't register that. My mind doesn't have an 'on' switch that can just bring all my memories back with one flip of a button. I have amnesia, Danny; I don't remember anything, and you're just going to have to accept that."

"I _can't_, Tom, can't you see?" said Danny, pain overtaking his voice, and he could feel tears brimming around his eyes, crystallizing immediately as it made contact with the frigid air swirling around them. "I love you so much—"

"Danny," Tom said, cold as his breath, and he stood up and faced the freckled young man. "I can't love you back. I… I just can't. And I don't want you getting hurt because of that, that's why I want you to move on."

"But I don't _want _to—"

"Danny, _please_," Tom sliced through, and Danny watched him helplessly, the tears running down his cheeks freezing halfway in their tracks. Tom closed his eyes, shook his head, and turned back to Danny with a determined face. Danny's tears kept on flowing. "Things change, Danny. You don't always get to keep what you have. Now, instead of crying about it, you have to move on. You can't cling to me forever. I don't want you to."

"No…" Danny whispered, but Tom shook his head once again, and after kissing the top of the bear's head with frozen lips, he placed it on Danny's lap.

"When you find someone, give that to him," Tom said with a smile. "Someone who deserves your love, yeah?"

"Tom…" Danny said, and his fingers helplessly clutched around the tiny stuffed animal. He couldn't believe it; after all the times they spent together, Tom couldn't remember any of it, and now he was telling Danny to move on. He didn't know if he could. He had never loved anybody as much as he loved Tom, and he didn't know if he could ever again.

"Goodbye, Danny," Tom said simply, and, turning his back to him, he jumped lightly off the stationary platform. He dug his hands deep in his pockets, turned and smiled at Danny one last time, and finally, with a deep breath, began walking back to the entrance.

Danny watched him as he walked, the figure growing smaller and smaller until it was only a pinprick in the distance, and wiped his face with the back of his hand. Soon, Tom was gone from his view, and try as he may to look harder, he couldn't find his golden hair anywhere anymore. Tom had walked out on his life, and Danny had no idea if he could start all over again.

Heaving a deep sigh, he stood up and hopped off the carousel, and the moment he started walking, the snow began to fall.


End file.
